As The TV Screen Flickers
by lisehrin
Summary: Luke, a TV screen, and the thoughts that haunt him.
1. Chapter 1

_As The TV Screen Flickers_

_Summary: Luke, a television set, and the thoughts that haunt him._

_AN: Yes, I know, this topic's been done to death long ago. I tried to resist, I really did, but I usually find it best not to ignore my muse when it deigns to speak to me. No spoiler's, but it's set between "Say Something" and "So…Good Talk". Read, enjoy, & if you wish – say something!_

_Disclaimer: The Gilmore Girls don't belong to me. Never will. Never have._

* * *

He knows he should be sleeping; he wants to be sleeping, but his mind refuses to comply. He stares into the liquid darkness of his room and tries to think about calm and boring things; sheep and orders and yesterday's receipts.

Nothing works.

Reluctantly, he grabs the remote and brings the TV to life. But even the shopping network can't fool his body into the oblivion of sleep.

He should have known it would end up like this. Him alone in a big, empty bed. Her, well, who knows where she is now; he hasn't seen her in days. Maybe she's with Rory; maybe she's run off to _him_, or maybe she's still holed up alone in her house. He's not sure he likes any of those options.

This was what they'd been afraid of. They'd spent years dancing around each other, pretending there was nothing more between them than friendship. Both of them were so sure that if they acted on their feelings it would never work out. At least, that's the way he felt, and he's pretty sure she felt the same. There was always a subtle hesitation in her voice, in her eyes, whenever they'd get too close, and it was invariably enough to make him step back. It was like there were giant warning signs flashing above her head. A siren-like voice repeating 'Don't do it!' and so he wouldn't. It was better to be friends than nothing at all.

Then like an idiot, he'd bought that book and saw her face and threw his sanity out the window. He got into his truck, drove out to the inn, and asked her to his sister's wedding. She said yes. Surprisingly, amazingly, she said yes, and while it later occurred to him that she probably hadn't realized what she was saying yes to, she still said it.

For a while it was good. For a while, it seemed that the fairy tale would come true. The flirting and laughter didn't stop. They'd shared countless kisses and even the occasional dance. They'd had a million conversations about nothing. He built her a skating rink and she rescued his boat. And to Luke it was everything and nothing like he'd thought it would be. Even that first night when he took her to Sniffy's, he hadn't expected it to end with her leading him up the stairs above the diner. He thought she'd run screaming when he gave his 'all in' speech, but she didn't. That's the first time he believed that this thing between them might work. That it might finally be right. It felt right. Her hand against his chest. Her brown curls spread across his flannel pillowcase. Her warm body nestled in beside him….

Abruptly, he changes the channel to the weather, willing his mind to stop thinking about her. For a while it seems to be working as he focuses on the current conditions in Rio de Janeiro and other far-flung places. The clouds sweep across the satellite pictures of the earth and the forecaster drones on in a relentless monotone. His eyes begin to feel heavy and he slumps further into his pillow with a sigh. The forecast changes to the local weather and he half hears the words 'clouding over' and 'cooler air mass' and 'snow'. His eyes shoot open. Snow. Dammit. She loves the snow.

He thinks about her dragging him out of bed in the middle of the night to go outside and stare at the sky. She wanted to share the moment with him and all he could do was complain.

He wonders when it all started to go wrong. If it was that moment standing out in the snow or if it started sooner than that. Did he get too comfortable? Did they fall into a rut too fast, too soon?

From the start, he wanted to believe that what they had was special; that he was special. He could see her making room for him in her life and he knew that it was something new for her. He tried to follow her example, but wasn't easy. They both had boundaries they needed to learn. She had to adjust to his early nights and lack of romanticism. He had to let go of some of his secrets, the places in himself he always hid. Although it wasn't perfect, it was what it was. Actions, actions were supposed to speak for themselves.

Stupid television, he thinks, flicking through the channels rapidly. Stupid actions. Actions don't tell you much. You can guess what they mean, but you never know for sure. Stupid doubts. He tried to suppress them, but they couldn't be held back forever. After all, a lifetime of pessimism didn't disappear just because he was dating Lorelai Gilmore.

It started with a simple omission, a lack of thought of consequence. A lunch with her daughter and her daughter's father, and that father's other daughter. Maybe she really didn't think it meant anything. Maybe it didn't, but he saw it as something else. Family. Lorelai's family, however odd the combination, it was the one she'd dreamed of for years. He tried not to be the jealous boyfriend. He tried to trust her. It was so easy to fall under her spell when she'd smile that shy and secret smile at him. There was too much at risk not to believe her when she said it was nothing. He wanted it to be nothing.

Even before her parent's overdone wedding, or vow renewal, or whatever it was, he'd felt uneasy. There was nothing specific, just a nagging suspicion that there was more going on beneath the surface. And then there was the blowout and Rory and Christopher and Lorelai standing there gaping at the fallout. He couldn't get his head around it all, especially the lie.

Maybe he should have let her talk. She probably would've chased all his doubts and fears away. But he just couldn't listen, not then, not right away. He was overwhelmed by a sensation of falling, spiraling wildly out of control, without knowing when that last sickening thud would come. The only way he could react was to retreat.

He wants to believe that this time it will be different. That if he only tries harder, things between them can be mended. But even as he completes that thought another one comes to him: 'For how long?' it whispers menacingly. He's sure that one of these days she'll wake up and disappear for good. It's what he's come to expect from the people he loves. However wrongly, it's what he's come to expect from her.

No, it's better for both of them to just let go. They tried and they failed and that's all there is to know.

He rubs his forehead with his fingers, knowing he's lying to himself. He doesn't believe that. There's too much unfinished business between them, so much they've yet to learn about each other. He wishes he'd kept his mouth shut when she cornered him in Doose's. He wishes he hadn't let Christopher or her parents or her desperate rambling get to him. But he did and there's no way of taking it back now.

The images flash across the screen as he flips through the channels, his mind barely registering what he sees before he moves on to something else. News, sports, talk shows; the images blur and meld into one. All he can see is her face and the look of heartbreak in her eyes as she silently handed him the tape from his answering machine.

And instead of reaching out and grabbing her like he wanted to, he let her walk away. Luke Danes: a stubborn fool to the last. He's afraid that he's left things too long. He's afraid he's too late.

With a sigh, he focuses back on the television.

He doesn't want it to be too late.


	2. Chapter 2

Too late.

That's the thought that's been stuck in his mind for days.

The play was supposed to fix things. It was supposed to force them to spend time together and work things out. But it didn't happen that way; she didn't show up and he spent a week explaining the function of a hammer to an eight-year-old. So he got mad and yelled at her.

Too late.

For one brief moment, he was sure they still had a chance, but then there were the kids and screaming and running and Kirk saying something about needing a potty break. And then the moment was lost. Too late.

He's starting to lose hope that the diner bell will ever ring like it used to and he'll see her standing there, wanting to talk. He's seen her walking to Weston's nearly every morning, deliberately casting her gaze away from the diner when she spots him through the window. She's not going to be the one to cave this time; it's his move. He said he wanted space and she's giving him that. He wonders why she had to start listening to him now.

He serves his customers, and he cooks their food, and with each passing day the dark thoughts become stronger. It is too late, he thinks, as he slams down a plate of runny eggs. Tough luck Bucko; he sneers to himself, as he throws another patron out the door. It's just too late. She's decided that what they had wasn't worth fighting for and it's his fault.

And then one night, the bell finally rings. He glances up quickly; feeling his heart beat strangely, and then looks away in disappointment. It's not Lorelai or even her alter ego Mimi at the door. No, it's only the one person he'd rather not see: Lorelai's mother. For once he's relieved by Kirk's presence, knowing that Emily won't be quite as awful if there are witnesses. And even as he thinks that, he braces himself, waiting for another volley of her thinly veiled insults. He's not entirely surprised as she primly looks down her nose at him and his business, but what she has to say floors him. Apparently, he's won.

Won? This wasn't a contest. This was his life, and Lorelai's life. Who the hell was this woman? Didn't she get that this wasn't her game to play? He lets her say what she's come to say and studiously avoids looking at her as he wipes down the counter, refills the coffeepot, and works through the rest of his nightly chores. It's only when he hears her heels click across the floor and the door slam shut, that he looks up and spots the greasy face print Kirk has left behind. She's right, he thinks, he is going to have to clean that. The thought is fleeting as he turns the deadbolt and flicks off the lights. His steps are slow and steady as he heads upstairs. He's not going to let her get to him, not this time.

He turns on the TV, unable to stand the dark, oppressive silence of his apartment. He sits down, taking off his cap and running his fingers through his hair. He had to hand it to them, those Gilmore women were sure a piece of work, all crazy and selfish and strangely compelling. Emily's words have already formed a loop in his mind, replacing the tired 'too late' phrase. What exactly has he won? He doesn't have Lorelai. He doesn't have a wealth of friends or family. Hell, if he keeps this up, he won't have any customers either.

But what if she was right? Maybe he was trying to 'win' Lorelai. Hadn't he always held Lorelai up as some kind of prize? If he waited long enough and was patient enough, wouldn't he finally win the girl? Wasn't that what dating was, a competition? But what if, in the end, the girl wasn't perfect, what then?

This. This is what happens.

Crushing the ball cap in his hands, he looks around the room, suddenly desperate for a distraction. He spots an old black and white movie playing on the TV screen, the one with Cary Grant and the Empire State Building. What was it? Love Affair? An Affair to Forget? An Affair to Remember? Once upon a time, he'd lost a bet and his payment involved enduring one of Lorelai's movie marathons. It ended up being a triple-header of the same movie played out in different movie eras. The thirties, the fifties, the nineties, and in each the message was the same. Guy meets girl. Guy likes girl. Guy and girl decide to try a relationship but end up clobbered by fate and their own stubborn insecurities.

Dammit. She's in his head again, like one of those songs that sticks in your brain and never lets go.

He doesn't want to let go.

He slips his cap back on and leaves the television blaring to an empty room. He's tired of thinking. It's time to act. He was right the first time: Actions do speak for themselves.

He doesn't hesitate as he crosses her front porch and knocks on the door. He doesn't hesitate after she opens the door. It can't be too late. It isn't too late, and that's what he attempts to tell her with his kiss. He only hopes she's listening.

* * *

The television flickers on beside him and he smiles appreciatively before removing the remote from her hands. "No. Not tonight."

"But Luke…"

He silences her by slowly placing one finger over her mouth.

"But you have deliveries…"

He leans in and presses his lips against hers, drawing her closer, breathing in her scent. He shakes his head. "To hell with deliveries." And he drives his point home by unplugging his alarm clock.

Her eyes shine and she giggles against his neck. She steals the remote back, and with a flourish presses the off button. Her fingers dance across his chest and then move lower as she whispers in his ear, "To hell with everything!"

The remote clatters to the floor and then amidst the rustle of sheets and hushed laughter, the picture fades to black.

Fin


End file.
